Road Warrior

Last week I completed a Triathlon. From start to finish, I did it!
It was such an invigorating experience and yet I find myself down playing every part. I had technical difficulties with my bike and as a result it took me twice as long to complete that part of the race. I took so long in fact, one police man who was at a post left, but slammed on his breaks and reversed when he noticed me slowly climbing up the last hill. I wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't shouted out his window, "Whoa! I'm sorry I thought the race was over! I'm glad I noticed you!"
I am still surprised how immediately I crumbled. "What a looser I am!" I thought. "What do I think I am doing? I don't belong here!" I continued berating myself for the rest of the bike part of the competition. It got worse from there.
As I was rounding the last of the bike trek, I saw my husband finishing the final part of the run. I was so proud of him. I was so excited about how he was doing and then I lost it. I became a jealous sore loser.
"I should just give up! I am so embarrassed with my performance! I should just stop and save face..."
As soon as I realized I was about to give up, another thought occurred to me. What would I tell my friends if they gave up because of how they felt they looked?
I would think they were crazy! I would tell them to focus on the big picture, they were here trying something very difficult, and new and they were almost finished. I would have reminded them that they had already finished the swimming part and now the biking part and all that was left was the running. I would tell them that they knew how to run. They could run and they could do it well.
As I was soothing my invisible friends, I changed my counselling from third person to first person. I can run. I can run and run fast. I don't want to be dead last in this part of the race!
I hung up my bike and continued on.
I waved at my kids and husband who were now watching and waiting for my on my last leg of the race. I was going to finish.
I ran/walked up the first hill.
I was still trying to gain back myself confidence. I passed a woman walking, too. I asked if she was alright, she told me she had finished the earlier, more advanced race that morning and thought it would be fun to walk this race.
This batted at myself esteem more. I felt like the woman had insulted me, seeing this race as less than, and I was walking it.
Emotionally I stumbled, fighting with myself to stay focused.
My music wasn't inspiring, my shirt I was wearing was too hot. I didn't like how my shorts kept riding up, and on and on.
Up a head I noticed another woman walking. There were people heading back to the finish line, but still there was one other woman walking the same direction. I decided to jog up to her.
When I caught up to her, she was out of breath and sweating profusely. I asked her if she was doing this race.
She gulped and said, "Yes, but my doctor told me to walk this part. So I am. I am going to finish this race!"
She was the most inspiring woman there. She was over weight, she was over heated and she was going to finish the race.
Her energy leaped into me and I was finally back in the game. I began running.
I ran to the half way mark where I drank some water and Gatorade, quickly.
I turned around and noticed in the distance someone else walking heading toward the finish line.
My goal changed into a bite sized task. I would run to that woman.
I threw off my shirt (my sports bra I swam in earlier would keep me cool), I turned up my MP3 and I ran.
As I got closer to the woman in the distance, I ran faster. And the faster I ran, the more I gave myself positive feed back.
Soon I was right behind the woman, but she started running too.
This time I wasn't discouraged, I was on fire. I wasn't going to be dead last in the running part, I was going to show myself I could, and was competing in a Triathlon!
The last leg of the run was down hill, quite steep, too. I could hear people cheering me on, I joined in! I could do it! I was doing it!
I ran faster than I have ever run as an adult before.
And then it was done. I had completed what I had come to do.
Later, the stats where posted. I realized something very valuable. If I wouldn't have stunted myself by pouting, I would have finished in a much faster time. I realized it wasn't the technical difficulties that kept me from competing, it was me, wasting time on why I should give up.
I don't want to be that negative person again. In fact, I am tired of being complacent and negative all together. I want to compete, I want to fight for myself. I want to fight to have a life! And I am going to, starting now.

Self Discovery By Accident

This morning I had a startling discovery. I found an old notebook, an ordinary spiral notebook. I have seen it several times in my desk drawer where we keep our scrap paper, and our computer paper. I knew it was there, I didn't ever have a reason to look at it, or through it for that matter.
This morning, my son, who is learning how to read, brought it to me. He read to me a passage that shocked me. It was from me during a period of time I was being treated for sever depression. Luckily, because I write partially in cursive and part print, my seven year old couldn't quite figure out what I had said. In investigating I realized it was a journal I started in 2006.
I noticed I wrote only about once a month and the theme was constant. Who am I? What do I want? I need to loose weight. What am I trying to do with my life? If I could just loose ten more pounds, then I would be happy...
I am shocked because here it is three years later, give or take, and I am still trying to discover what will make me happy. I am still trying to loose ten pounds, I am still trying to venture out to see what I can accomplish and I am still incredibly frustrated.
It would seem I haven't moved forward at all. It is as if I wasted three years of my life. But this conclusion is false.
So here is my true conclusion, I will never be happy or satisfied if I can't realize what it is I have accomplished and have figured out.
No I don't have a career, yet. But I have figured out, conclusively what it is I don't want to have a career in.
I haven't lost ten pounds, but, I have learned how to compete in a mini-triathlon.I couldn't have done that three years ago.
I have figured out what I am passionate about and what I am Luke-warm with.
And if I really think about it (which is something I don't like to do and something I dislike to admit even more) I genuinely like large amounts about myself. This is a new discovery.
I like that I am not satisfied with the same old same old. I like that I have a need to research and discover things, anything, everything.
It isn't that I am in the same place I was three years ago, which is what I originally thought. I am in a totally different place, a good place and a place where I am free to discover.
This in itself is terrifying, worrisome, at times loathsome, but also exhilarating, and exciting.
It's OK that I don't know where I am, who I am, or what I want to be. The point in life is to figure it out if it takes three years or thirty three years!
I'm up for it!

Woman Vs. Woman

what is it about women? I recently went to a dinner party where I was called a liar. The circumstances were ridiculous. I under estimated a detail of an event I was explaining and the woman I was talking to was fixated on that particular detail. Before I could counter re-act the detail, I was outed as a liar in front of the whole dinner party. From my perspective, I truly didn't mean to lie. I calculated wrong, that is all. The detail was minor to the context of the rest of the event. But this woman, whom I have known for years is uber competive and wanted to prove me wrong. In the name of trying to save face, I didn't take back the detail and admit I was wrong. It was so stupid. I felt really embarrassed and what started out as an accident, played into her verbal assault and I became a liar. I hate that. I hate that, once again I was broad sided and I did nothing to strengthen myself. The wonderful thing about women is our ability to love, unconditionally, uncontrollably and give ourselves to what we love. I wish we could do this to each other more often.
Why couldn't I say, "You are right. It couldn't be what I said. Sorry about that" ?
Why did the woman have to be so worried about tearing down my statement and there fore tearing me down?
Why is it that females sometimes replace compassion with competition? What is the true focus here?
So because I write a blog to help me figure life out, I also write to help me figure myself out. This is what I learned from this dinner party: I can make a mistake, take back the mistake and still save face. The point isn't who the woman says I am, the point is who I am trying to become.

Looking The Part

My husband and I have signed up to compete in a miniature triathlon. I am proud to say we are actually following through and doing it. To solidify our devotion we have been training for it and because it is being held in St. George, we have already booked a room. That clinches it, we have spent the fee to enter the race and we have booked a hotel room, we are going.
To tell you the truth, I have a love/hate desire to do this. Or perhaps it is a fear/control thing I have with it. This miniature race consists of running 1.5 miles. I can do that. Biking 5 miles. I can do that. And swimming 8 laps in a pool. Yikes. I don't know how to swim. I hate water on my face and I really, really hate wearing swim suits, in public or out of the public. I basically see swim suits as a mid-evil torture device.
Every year I take a pilgrimage to the Department stores in the Mall in search for that perfect swimming suit. You know the one; it miraculously changes your body image, physically and emotionally at an accelerated rate and the longer you wear it the skinnier you become. I don't know what's so hard about finding a suit like that. It has got to be out there...somewhere.
Last year I decided to buy one, via Internet through the Victoria Secret Web site.
It was great, well on line, it was great. I got to choose the color I wanted. I was able to mix and match different tops with different bottoms. I could decide which bottom style would work best on my body type and the best part was I didn't have to try to visualize it. Every time I tweaked something a picture of it was then transposed on a Victoria Secret Model. I loved it.
It was reasonably priced, too. So after about a week, I received a small package by UPS. It had arrived, my perfect suit!
I tore open the packaging and marveled at my brand new Lycra persona. I am going to look HOT this summer!
A few minutes into putting the suit on, reality hit me. It didn't matter how I posed in it, I did not look like the perfect specimen I saw on line. I have figured out what Victoria Secrets big secret is, AIR BRUSHING!
Another swim suit to put in my swim suit drawer of same.
Which brings me back to my little triathlon. I have a new suit. I actually tried it on at the store. Yes it was horrifying and yes I went immediately after and got a Blizzard from Dairy Queen.
It's an OK suit. It's used specifically for racing. It's a one-piece black Speedo brand with white racing stripes. Don't you love the psychology behind the racing stripes?
I also purchased a swimming cap, because I just had highlights and low lights put in my hair and I don't want them ruined by chlorine. Add to this my swim goggles and I definitely look the part, an Iron man triathlete.
Looking the part is quite different than acting the part ,however.
Every time I get into the lap pool (I don't dive in. I slowly lower myself in. Carefully submerging myself inch by inch, until it's colder having more than half of my body in and part of it out) and whimper and whine that the water is too cold.
I have gotten looks, quizzical, eye-rolling looks from people who actually like to swim and know how to swim. I think it is because I look like a professional but then I can only doggy paddle. I concede that the gurgling, panting and hyperventilating doesn't help to make me seem like an athlete either.
I have been asked, why on earth would I sign up for a miniature triathlon? I have to say, it's purely for bragging rights. When was the last time you did something really challenging for you and you did it? I can't remember the last time I accomplished something like this.
I am so excited to go for this. I am so excited to get out of my comfort zone and try something truly terrifying. Even if I drown doing it.
I don't expect to win. Actually, I have a suspicion I will be the woman that a search party will be looking for 7 hours after the race is over. They will be in their golf carts and waving flash lights into the brush off the side of the road. And where will I be?
Still screaming and panting that the lap pool is too cold. But at least I'll look like an Olympian swimmer, even if I don't have the decorum down.

The Big Rub

Last Thursday, as I was killing time between picking up my new eyeglasses and meeting some friends for lunch, I found myself seduced into listening to a sales pitch from very short man at a mall kiosk. After rebuffing my half-hearted attempts to leave, I was placed on a wooden bar stool and intensely examined. He was selling facial creams and possibly saving me from a life of a dry and wrinkled face.
He spoke in a thick accent, I wasn't sure where from, but he had such authority in his delivery I began believing everything he said.
He proceeded to dab my unsightly under-eye circles with a top secret magic formula. This cream was also able to lift the sags and smooth the lines around my eyes. But, he would only do one eye so I could visibly see the amazing transformation.
I have to admit, I could visibly see the difference between eye A and unforgiving eye B.
Then the man continued vocally picking apart my flaws, telling me how much older and unattractive I was having these three obviously deformities (the under eye circles, the laugh lines and now slight acne scars). I was shocked. Here I was thinking I was looking pretty good that day. I had spent an hour donning makeup and hair in anticipation of a girl's luncheon, when in his reality I really should have been wearing a bag, and probably a two-ply, brown paper bag over my head.
Along with tearing my self esteem apart, the creepy little man kept rubbing against me with his even tinier "manhood".
At first I thought it was an accident. I was sitting high on a chair, my legs were crossed and he was leaning in to dab eye cream on me. It was a plausible mistake.
The second time, after I had readjusted feeling embarrassed by the accidental contact, the man lingered on me. It must have been an accident, right? Wasn't it an accident?
After sitting and listening to my many, many faults and on the verge of wanting to hide in my house for the remainder of my life if only to spare the world of my ugliness, the stout little man, rubbed against me for the third time (he was no longer applying facial cream to my face, it was a mask on my forearm). I couldn't believe it. I really couldn't fathom this kind of behavior, to me, a grown woman in my thirties, in broad day light and in a very public place.
I stood up, thanked the man for his time and then limped away to the Express store to cry among the sales rack in the back.
I was humiliated. What had I done to deserve this? What could I have done to provoke this kind of behavior? And how had I become so ugly in a few short hours?
In telling my friends of what had conspired, I was still visibly shaken, one friend even had tears in her eyes, wanted to know why. My other friend explained it to me perfectly; it was because simply, I was unprepared.
If I had had my guard up, the creep probably wouldn't have succeeded in getting away with so much. I blame my environment. In a culture of perpetual "turn the other cheek" I have found myself cheek less and down right spineless.
What time period am I living in? A truly great time it is. I am living in a time where a woman could run for President of the United States and another woman could run for Vice President. I am witnessing events that will forever be known in history as the "firsts" and here I am crying in the back of an Express Store.
I decided to take action and stand up for myself and for my two friends and also for my younger, less-wise self. I called the Mall Management Offices to complain, and waited for a returned phone call. Nothing. They still haven't called, even after two messages.
The next day, still feeling the sting to my self-esteem and wounded from not taking more action, I decided to go back to the Mall.
This time I was prepared. I spent over an hour getting ready. My hair was perfect. My makeup was sublime, my outfit, smart and slightly sexy, and my shoes, six inches (I wanted to tower over the man).
I went to Dillards and purchased many facial products for my skin. Guess what? The sweet woman behind the counter kept disputing all the products I was told I needed the day before for my badly pocked and ugly skin. She couldn't see my acne scars. She even compared me to Anne Hathaway. I like Anne Hathaway, I think she's pretty.

Taking my time and my purchases, and I must mention I had a prepared speech; I trekked back to the now hated man at his Kiosk.
He wasn't there. He wasn't working that day.
No matter. I was there to gain my self respect. I told the two women now working the Kiosk about what transpired. Including the crazy rubbing the creep did.
The women didn't believe me. In fact, one hugged me, the other tried to sell me some product for half price! I showed them my bag of facial treatments and told them, thank you for the hug, but I am not now nor ever going to buy anything from them.
It didn't matter that the women didn't believe me. I don't care that they didn't see it as a big deal. I am delighted that I stood up for myself and for my friends and for anyone else who has been broad sided and left in ruins. I did it for my sex and I did it for me. I can go back to the Mall or any place else with my head held high. Next time though, I'll have my guard up.

The Assassination of Self

She sits inside my skin, a giant within my 5'4" frame
She sits, crouching in wait.
She isn't comfortable, always complaining.
I believe she is protecting me.
I believe she is genuine in trying to help.
So I listen to her whispers.
I nod in agreement when she shouts.

She is always with me
She is always awake, making me partially asleep.
I have appointed her my Master,
I, merely the apprentice.

One day, or perhaps many days, over thirty years or so, I wake up.
She is happiest crammed inside me.

She claims I need her,
In truth, she's the one in need.
Without me, without dwelling beneath my skin, and whispering self-doubt
She would die.
She feeds on me.
That's how she has gotten so big.
That's how she's gotten so self important.

And now she's threatened.
Threatened that I am wise to her.
Threatened that I have awakened.
She won't leave on her own.
I've tried to out grow her.
She's not going to leave,
Not without death.

It is up to me.
I am going to be her assassin. But how? I've never killed
Anybody before?
I could pull the trigger, twice.
Once by way of kind words,
The second by believing those words.

She knows what I'm planning.
She tries to sabotage my schemes.
She screams and trembles.
She debates and claims I'll fail without her.
She apologizes and promises silence.

She won't be so critical.
She won't expose all the issues I have.
She'll keep my secrets
She'll try to ignore how terrible I truly am.
After all She's only trying to help.
She's only trying to HELP!

Her pleading has worked in the past.
She did keep her promises, for a little while, at least.
But then She grew.
She got bigger and stronger, than before.
And I had failed again, at something else.

And She snickered
And She delighted
And pointed out her "told me so's".
But not this time.
This time I have a fool-proof plan.
Practice.
Kindness.

I will use a knife and spoon.
I will cut her out.
With Practice, I will scoop her out
And all of her roots, with her.
I will Practice with Kindness
And I will not let my guard down.

She'll plot to come back.
She'll search for small cracks.
She'll send out shoots and try to plant them
When another tries to put me down.

I won't listen.
I won't hear.
I will block her and knock her down.
I will kill her.
And then I will be free.

And maybe one day, I'll visit her grave site.
And marvel at my accomplishment.
I'll read on her tombstone;
Here She Lies,
Here She Dies,
My Old Self
My Poor Bad Self-Esteem.

Inside The Looking Glass

Today I went to the Ophthalmologist for my yearly check up.
It seems my eyes, like everything else in accordance to age, are getting worse.
This bugs me, immensely.
I think it has to do with my ability to remember the thoughts and feelings I had when I was seventeen.
Don't get me wrong, for me, High School was not my "glory day". I hated High School. I loathed almost everything about it and am puzzled whenever people want to reunite with High School buddies and reminisce about "the good 'ol days".
The good 'ol days? Why would I want to remember my self-loathing, deeply-depressed, sarcastic and man-hating, not to mention an awkwardly hopeless-romantic, not-sure-what-to-do-with-myself, side? Yuck! And more importantly, I don't want anyone else to remember me this way either.
I work really hard to shape myself into the adult I want to be and practically pretend that my old self doesn't exist. To sum up, I had a lot to be angry about, I have a lot less to be angry about now.
So I am at the Ophthalmologist when I am presented with, "you have Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis and you need to wear eye glasses more and alternate with contacts occasionally".
What?
The Ophthalmologist repeated it to me.
No comprende..?
Basically I have cooties on my eye lids and it is effecting my eyes. I have to use special medication via eye drops and can't wear contacts for at least one month. And then he'll see.
What about surgery? Wait, I can't afford Lasik, yet.
So what's the big deal?
I hate glasses. I own a pair. One pair, that are out of style and that are no longer the right prescription, which I can't see (no pun intended) is a big deal because I only wear them when there aren't people around.
I take out my contacts, right before bed, and put on glasses after my face-washing ritual is complete. Then I squint during the news and then go to sleep.
I get up the next morning, slip the ugly things back on, and commence with the squinting while I get my kids ready for school. After my morning shower and more face-washing rituals, I put my contacts in.
My little secret identity; no one sees them, no one sees me in those hideous glasses.
It's not as if I hate glasses. I love sunglasses and on others, I think glasses are quite cute, sexy even, but not on me. Every time I put a pair of regular eye wear across the bridge of my nose, I am magically and painfully transformed back to my adolescence. Looking through my own looking glass, I am once again an unattractive, nerdy teenager, which is one of the reasons I was so angry back then. So why would I want that kind of self esteem?
Back at the Ophthalmologist, I tried on pair after pair of eye glasses. These ones make me look too old. Those are too square. I don't like the size of these ones. I don't know why I look so weird with these on...they look cuter on the model...(I know most things do).
Then it occurred to me, it's not them, it's me. It wouldn't matter if I found the most perfect pair of eyeglasses, contoured and made exactly for my face. A pair that transformed me into a Giorgio Armani model.
It wouldn't matter. The real issue is my "inside me".
I still have not out grown the angst ridden teenager who was so afraid of the world.
What is up with that?
I keep thinking I have changed. I am different and I am unstoppable. I'm a grown up for crying out loud!
So after an hour and a half I left without a pair of glasses. I am going back with my husband and kids for their opinion. Maybe having their support might transform me back into the woman I've been working on. And maybe I can challenge that teenager stuck under my skin to a duel and show her, through a new pair of eyes, my true self.